


Can't Make a Sound

by predictaslash



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Deputy Stiles Stilinski, Fae & Fairies, Future Fic, How can you have Steter without Peter's sassmouth?, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, original cat character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 12:32:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5585476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/predictaslash/pseuds/predictaslash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It takes them about two weeks to even realize Peter is missing."</p><p>In which Peter's voice is stolen and Stiles has terrible bedside manner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Make a Sound

It takes them about two weeks to even realize Peter is missing. That’s how peripheral he’s become to the pack in the last few years. 

Stiles feels kind of shitty because he should be way more observant and should have noticed that Beacon Hills was down one murder creep with artful stubble. But he just went on living his life. They all did. It’s only when the ever distrusting, ever suspicious, ever vigilant, and ever _not-letting-shit-go_ Derek thinks that Peter’s been quiet for too long to be up to any good that anyone thinks to even check on Peter. 

There have been a string of disappearances around town in the past few weeks--coincidence? Stiles thinks not. Deputy Stilinski does not believe in coincidences. Peter probably went on a murder spree just to ruin his tally of Days Without Supernatural Freaky Shit Going Down in Beacon Hills--his latest run was 34. Thirty-four whole days with just regular old crime and regular old criminals! Stiles knew it was too good to be true.

When he drives his car over to the cottage Peter’s been staying in, he tenses the moment he sees the door standing wide open. He slows down his cruiser to a stop, places her in park, and looks around, hand on his sidearm, unbuttoning the strap.

Stiles steps out onto the scant gravel that makes up Peter’s “driveway” out here in the woods. A small something comes at him at the crunch of rock moved by work boots, and Stiles almost accidentally shoots the scrawny, half-wild looking cat. He eases up and holsters his gun to hold out his hand to the little guy--he notices he’s missing the tip of his ear and tries to remember what Scott said about what that means. The cat doesn’t approach, but chatters a bit at him, sounding forlorn and demanding all at once. He decides to just go on in the house--the cat follows him in and makes more impatient noises at him, tail twitching, low and side-to-side.

The cat obviously doesn’t care about the state of Peter’s furniture as it makes a beeline for two small bowls on the floor of the small kitchen/dining area. It doesn’t care that there’s glass on the floor that used to be a chic looking coffee table or that there’s an unmistakable man-shaped dent in the wall next to the fireplace. 

Then again, who knows how long the poor little thing has been stuck here without food or water? It may have been an indoor only cat who was terrified of what happened here and had no idea how to survive in the outside world. So, Stiles texts Scott to meet him at the cottage for some clue-hunting with the aid of his supernatural nose, and then rifles through the cabinet until he finds some cat food.

The cat starts gorging itself immediately, so fast that Stiles is afraid it will choke and die and then, with Stiles’s luck, Peter will return home after a two week trip to fucking Bucharest or something and then choke Stiles and kill him as retribution for the death of his beloved pet. Stiles tries to pet it and soothe it, tries to pull it back from the bowl, and he gets sudden, stinging pain across the back of his hand as Peter’s cat swats him with both paws, hissing. 

_Of course Peter has a shitass cat_ , he thinks as he brings his hand up to his mouth to catch the blood welling up.

 

“Don’t try to pet the cat--he’s feral.” Oh, that’s right. That’s what the tipped ear means. But then Scott kneels down anyway, against his own advice, and holds out his hand for the cat to bump its cheeks against. And it does, the little fuck.

“So, uh, smell anything? Alpha Sense tingling?” Stiles is standing awkwardly in the door, waiting for Scott to wolf out and go running through the woods with Stiles failing to keep up, but trying to follow him anyway. Scott takes a deep breath. And then another one. 

“There was a struggle. I can still smell the adrenaline all over the place.”

“Any blood?”

“A bit, but normal struggle stuff.” Scott points to a red drop on the carpet that Stiles failed to notice. He’s such a bad cop.

“Is there a trail you can scent out? Maybe leading conveniently to the lair of the bad guys--or maybe good guys--that took him?”

Scott actually drops to all fours and puts his face close to the carpet and sniffs along what Stiles assumes is probably a body trail. “Smells like Peter was dragged.” Stiles follows Scott as he follows the invisible clues to the back door. Scott pops back up and opens the door, going outside into the small herb and flower garden no one expects to be there. Peter the gardner. Peter the abductee. Peter the packless alpha. Peter the hopefully not completely dead. A hand on his shoulder takes Stiles away from this train of thought. “So, good news--there’s a convenient trail.” He points to the drag marks through the mulch and the obvious places where branches and brush have been disturbed. “Bad news is I think it’s on purpose.”

“We’ve got ourselves one pretty obvious trap here, huh?”

“Seems like.”

“And it would be stupid to go in, just the two of us?.”

“Yep.”

“For Peter, of all people.”

“Hmmm.”

“What are we waiting for?”

 

The trail goes cold smack dab in the middle of a clearing and that always means something super weird and magical is going on.

Stiles summons what he has of a Spark and reaches out--there’s a warm area and it feels familiar. Like fae energy, but darker.

“Fairies again.”

Scott starts to smile. “Oh, man, cool, let’s go in. They’re so nice and tiny.” Stiles gives him a look. Scott is the best/worst.

“Considering the fact that this one abducted Peter against his will and then deliberately set a trap for us, I don’t think it’ll be as cool as Tavish and his friends.”

“Oh, yeah.” Back to his determined True Alpha face.

Stiles drops the bag he’s carrying to the ground and gets his phone out. He opens the app that he and Lydia designed back in their first semester of college--best idea they ever had. He flips through to the F section and clicks on “Fairies” then the subsection “Bad, No-Good Fairies.” 

“Looks like silver and iron could do the trick.” He pulls out a length of silver chain, an iron fire poker, and his special silver bullets. 

 

When Scott and Stiles push through the weak spot in the magical boundary, a shiver runs through them and sends goosebumps up their arms. The air isn’t cold, it’s oppressive--it feels like something is squeezing the air out of them, but not. Like their souls are leaking out. Like Stiles is going to shake out of his skin.

It’s dark and has the lighting and feeling of somewhere indoors, but they are surrounded by hedges. They move along a corridor of the hedges, following the tell-tale trail of fairy lights and flowers. 

The first door they come across has a small window--bulletproof, reinforced with wire, Stiles notes--and Stiles almosts knocks his head into Scott’s as he pulls back with a gasp. “It’s a phoenix,” he whispers. But it’s a sad, pitiful looking phoenix who has lost all flame, leaving his feathers an ashy color. 

“We have to let him go!” And instead of sticking with the plan, Scott uses his super strength to pull the door off it’s hinges. Or he would have _if it wasn’t sealed with magic_. Stiles rolls his eyes. 

“We have to kill whoever is doing this first, dummy.”

They keep moving along and Stiles starts to get the feeling that they’re being watched. The fae love to watch and toy with their prey. He doesn’t signal to Scott, just keeps following along as they come across more doors with more magical creatures in various states of depression and injury. A vampire, probably defanged, looking green around the edges; a shapeshifter changing from animal to animal, pacing the length of her small cell; a kelpie with a room full of water; a griffin, too big to spread it’s wings in it’s cell; and--

“Oh, holy shit, that’s awesome,” Scott whispers in awe as he takes in the horn and shining white mane and tail.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” All of the research Stiles has ever done has said that unicorns definitely aren’t real. And yet, here he is, standing in front of a unicorn whose imprisonment has not caused her to fade a bit. “Scott, as much as I’d love to stay here just for research reasons, we need to take care of this so we can take care of all of them.”

They continue to tiptoe through the hedges and vines until she finally grows bored of watching and appears in front of them in a burst of pink, glittery smoke. Stiles coughs and thinks _ugh, and she’s tacky._

“Wait until I tell Peter that all of his noble self-sacrifice was for nothing! I got myself a Spark and a True Alpha anyway!” She claps her hands together, and her bangles clang as they move along her forearm. “Wonderful.” Stiles can see her for what she really is--a goblin-looking ugly thing in fine silks and jewels--but he’s sure that Scott sees a beautiful fairy goddess.

He sends Scott the hand signal that means let me talk us out of this. Scott’s nod is almost imperceptible. 

“Hello, I am Stiles and this is Scott. What a wonderful...uh, menagerie you have here.” Or, you know, torture shack, he thinks.

She grins an evil, but happy, grin. “Thank you. I’m so glad you like it. This will be quite a beautiful addition to the Unseelie Court.” She curtsies. “I am Blodeuwedd, daughter of Bleddyn.”

“Nice to meet you, Blodeuwedd. So, Peter wouldn’t tell you where we were, huh?”

“No, he was most naughty.” A sickening giggle. “But I broke him in quite nicely. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You’re here now. Is your banshee friend meeting us here perchance?”

“Well, she’s across the pond, at the moment, but I’m sure she’ll join us once her honeymoon is over.” This Blodeuwedd was clearly not all there if she thought that they would willingly come along--when had any supernatural creature ever willingly fallen into the trap of the fae? And she was clearly not too powerful since she seemingly couldn’t read at least Scott’s mind--Stiles had a shield up as firm as Snape’s during Occlumency lessons, but Scott was an open book. It had ruined many of their more intricate plans in the past. “Thank you so much for your hospitality. It is such an honor to be chosen to entertain the Unseelie Court.”

“Ohmigosh.” Stiles raises an eyebrow at the human-ism. “Thank you. I’m just so glad one of you finally sees what I’m doing for you. I’m just trying to help. I can see why Peter didn’t want to tell me where you were--he wanted you all for himself! Selfish boy.”

Stiles actually has no idea why Peter didn’t rat him out--maybe he knew that Scott the Goody-Goody would eventually come find him and didn’t want to risk losing his only way out?

“I’m sure he thought he was doing what was right for the pack. Werewolves, amirite?” He gives Scott a friendly elbow and, really, it’s written all over his face. He’s just so bad at acting in these situations...you know, except when he’s tricking his girlfriend’s evil grandfather into taking poison. They’ve only been doing this stuff for over a decade. “So, anywhoozle, can we room near Peter until we go back with you?”

“Of course, Stiles, you can room anywhere you like. I know how close you and your True Alpha are, so I’ll even get you bunk beds!” That’s not creepy at all.

“Cool!” Scott finally pipes up, hopefully playing along and not under her spell. “We always wanted bunk beds, dude!” They fist bump and Stiles is pretty sure it looks legit. This is getting boring, to be honest. All this waiting just to get her to turn her back. And then it’s lights out because Stiles is a damn good shot and this bitch deserves to rot in hell for what she’s done to these beautiful, sentient beings. Even the vampire.

“Wonderful!” she squeals, then claps twice. And suddenly they’re in a cell and it is tricked out and nothing like the cells they found while snooping. There’s even an XBox. But they’ll never get to play it or bunk together because Blodeuwedd stupidly turns to go out using the actual door, like she’s that cocky that they are on her side and fooled by her and 100% okay with captivity. Worst. Fairy. Ever. 

Stiles unloads 8 rounds into her chest and head in less than a minute. Thank god for automatic weapons and specialty bullets. 

“Aw, man,” Scott whines as he looks down at the sparkly fae blood pooling on the floor to their cell.

“Scott, she wanted to imprison us. She’s been torturing Peter for two weeks. She was crazy.”

“Yeah, but I could have gotten her help or something.”

“Like, a Fae therapist?” Stiles rolls his eyes, but looking the other way so that Scott can’t see. He loves his bro, but sometimes he needs a reality check. He’ll get Tavish on the phone after all of this is over to explain exactly how this situation had to end the way it did. After they free everyone and find Peter. 

Stiles is the first one to move toward the cell door since Scott is obviously wallowing in guilt over killing someone. That gets old real quick for someone like Stiles, but it never gets easier for Scott. The door opens with ease and once out in the hallway, the oppressive feel is gone and so is any trace of fae magic. Hallelujah. 

True to her word, Stiles finds Peter in the next cell over, but it ain’t pretty. Stiles can see a thin, blackish-gray wolf form through the small window, but he barely looks before he’s jerking open the door. 

“I have Peter!” he yells without glancing back. “You free the others!”

 

“Oh, shit, Peter, what did that thing do to you?” Peter’s in full wolf form as Stiles goes to his knees on the hard concrete, a steel collar and chain keeping him shackled to the floor. It’s hard to tell if he’s injured with all of the dark fur, so Stiles starts running his fingers over every inch of his body, waiting for Scott to finish freeing all of the other captives so he can come over and break the chains with his bare hands. Chunks of fur are matted down with blood along his throat and any other day, Stiles would know it’s with the blood of Peter’s enemies, but he has a feeling that Peter’s own blood is all over him. 

Peter’s despondent, but he’s got a pulse and he’s breathing, so there’s that. It’s very strange that the man who put the fear of god into him at one point in time is now letting out a whimper while his head is pillowed on Stiles’s lap. Stiles doesn’t know if Peter can hear him or if he’s too far out of it, but he’s hushing him anyway, trying to soothe him with nonsense words. He doesn’t know how long it takes, but eventually Scott comes back for him and Peter with a whole bunch of new magical allies as backup. Scott’s face is grim as he works on the chains and Stiles knows that he can sense something that his human senses can’t. 

 

Stiles is really worried that Peter won’t even make it back to the clinic. They speed off in the police cruiser after running with him through the woods at breakneck speed. Luckily, the unicorn seemed more than happy to get Stiles up on her back so he could keep up with Scott. With his erratic driving, he’s actually worried they’ll get pulled over--these life or death situations really take him back to the mental state he had in in high school.

They manage to make it back in one piece and Stiles only goes over one median when pulling into the clinic’s parking lot. Stiles ends up carrying Peter in as Scott runs ahead and uses his wolfspeed to prepare all of the tools he thinks he’ll need to take care of Peter. He’s in full Scott McCall, DVM/Supernatural Doctor mode. _Sooooo_ much better than working with Deaton on these things.

Stiles makes a piss poor assistant, which is why Scott’s actual veterinary assistant, Leah, takes over holding Peter and starts shaving the spot on his neck that Stiles felt earlier. Now that it’s clear, and Leah’s cleaning the wound, Stiles sees the long, jagged, and painful looking laceration along Peter’s throat. Stiles knows how fairy magic works, how pretty it can be, and this was done by a crazy person who wanted to inflict as much pain as possible.

“Aw, jeez, guys.” Stiles covers his eyes as Leah takes Peter’s temperature rectally. And he just sits there and takes it is the truly shocking thing.

Leah, a 17-year-old junior in high school, rolls her eyes at him, a 26-year-old sheriff’s deputy, and says, “Grow up.” She looks down when the thermometer beeps and yells to Scott, who’s over at the sink getting his hands sterile. “He’s cold, I’ll warm up the water bottles.” Leah heads over to the microwave. “Make yourself useful, Stiles, and grab some blankets from the closet.”

Stiles practically runs over to the closet, excited to be useful. He grabs what he estimates is a million blankets and manages to knock over everything else in the supply closet. His coordination hasn’t really improved since high school. He returns with the blankets and shifts from foot to foot before finally starting to shake the folds out and cover Peter. Peter’s eyes have been open yet unseeing, but he finally looks like he’s present when he makes eye contact with Stiles. He lets out a high-pitched whine and it feels like a punch in the gut. Stiles has no idea what’s going on with himself--maybe he’s just super sympathetic to injured animals, even if they are Peter Hale. That must be why he starts rambling words of comfort.

“Hey, buddy, we’re going to get you all patched up.” Peter can probably hear the stutter in his heartbeat since Stiles doesn’t actually know that Scott is going to be able to help. He must be possessed by a compassion demon--that’s the only reason why he would then place his hand on top of Peter’s head, why he starts petting him. 

Leah comes back over and gives him _a look_. “Oh, shut it, Leah.” She smirks before grabbing a bottle from the Supernatural Emergency Kit that’s now on the surgery tray. It’s full of all sorts of herbs and concoctions. Stiles recognizes the bottle of wolfsbane-infused lidocaine that Lydia created. Leah jabs the needle in multiple places around the wound and Stiles cringes on Peter’s behalf. She moves on quickly to putting an IV catheter in a front leg, shaving the area, cleaning it, and slipping the catheter in in less than five minutes. Scott totally needs to give Leah a raise.

“Alrighty, Boss, he’s ready for you.” What Scott actually does isn’t that impressive. He peels the skin back around the wound (ew) and prods at it with stainless steel instruments. Whatever he finds makes his face harden and maybe, just maybe, Scott’s going to get over the fact that they killed someone today. He doesn’t say anything as he quickly stitches the area up. He then runs his hands over the rest of Peter, checking for other wounds they may have missed. 

He finally looks up at Stiles where he’s still at Peter’s head, smoothing down fur and picking at the clumped together mats of blood. “I think, based on what I’m seeing, that Peter’s been debarked. Otherwise, he seems okay except for being a bit malnourished and dehydrated. I have no idea why he’s still in wolf form. Must be the same reason why his wounds didn’t heal.”

“Magic.” 

“Yeah.” Peter’s not watching Scott, keeps his eyes on Stiles--as if Stiles has any clue where to go from here. “I’ll, uh, call Deaton and see what he can offer.” Finally, Peter lets out a scoffing snort sound and he can communicate his doubt in this form as well as he can with his voice and words.

“Tell me about it, man,” he mutters as Scott finishes cleaning Peter up and pulls off his gloves.

“I think he should be hooked up to fluids overnight just to get him in the clear, but then he should be good to go home.”

Stiles looks at his best friend, then back at Peter. He gestures with his hands at Peter and he hopes the movements come off as incredulous. “Just how is he supposed to go home? He’s got no voice, he’s still a wolf, he is in no shape to be taking care of himself. Hell, he doesn’t even have thumbs!! How is he going to open doors and, like, how is he going to go out to go to the bathroom?” Stiles may be working himself into a panic attack, but that’s mostly because what he’s considering is lunacy. 

Scott is mostly ignoring him in favor of doing something productive. He takes Peter’s pulse, monitors his respirations, checks his color, and takes his temperature again (still involving butts and Stiles will never get used to that). Leah, meanwhile, is setting up one of the big steel cages with a mound of blankets and some sort of portable IV thingy. Once she’s done, she and Scott work together to manoeuvre Peter over to the cage.

Stiles really cannot stand to see Peter curled up and drugged out of his mind, tongue lolling out as the morphine Scott pushed through his IV kicks in. But he also can’t look away.

“I’ll get everything you need to take care of him all packed up tonight.”

That pulls Stiles out of his weird watching-Peter-while-he-sleeps daze. “Exsqueeze me?”

“You can go back out to his place and get everything set up. I have a cot in my office and I’ll check on him every few hours.”

“And you assume I’m going to take care of him why?” Scott just gives him _a significant look._

It really makes the most sense because who else is going to do it? Derek the failwolf with no patience or tenderness? Yeah, right. If Peter could keep his mouth shut about him and Scott and Lydia, Stiles can do this for him. Scott may be a happy-go-lucky guy who sees the good in everyone, but his infinite patience sure does dry up when in close quarters with Peter for too long. He still hasn’t forgiven him for trying to date his mom.

Scott shrugs. “Everyone knows you’re the only one he’ll even talk to these days.”

“That was one time!” One time Peter had refused to help anyone until Stiles came to convince him to share his never-ending knowledge with everyone else! One time is an anomaly, not a pattern. And it was probably just because Stiles has a gun and is notoriously trigger happy.

“Whatever you say, Stiles.” Stiles hates when Scott does that to him, when _anyone_ does that to him. Like they know something he doesn’t and they’re just humoring him. Hates it so fucking much. “So, these are some pretty powerful antibiotics--” a pill bottle is shoved in his hand and the pills within are huge--”And I’ll get you some probiotics, pain meds, and a sub-q fluid set up. Hope you aren’t still squeamish about needles, by the way.” Stiles flinches a little thinking about having to poke holes in Peter’s flesh, but he doesn’t object because Scott doesn’t let him. “And, of course, I’ll send you home with a bland diet and some food with a ton of calories for when he’s eating regularly, but, I don’t know, Peter may not take well to dog food, so I’ll just text you a list of foods that you can cook for him--”

“Hey, now, that’s if I take care of his evil ass. Which I’m not.”

 

An hour later, Stiles finds himself back at Peter’s cottage. He tells himself he’s just cleaning up out of the goodness of his heart, and that’s it, that’s all he’ll do. Clean the glass up, right the furniture, fix the lock, feed the cat. Then go to his own home and sleep and call Derek to deal with all of this bullshit. Maybe Cora, if she can be bothered to stop traveling for a second and pick up the phone.

The cat watches him do all of his tidying and even he’s looking at Stiles as if to say _sucker_ and _I’ll believe it when I see it_ and _good luck with all that, I’ll definitely see you tomorrow when you bring Peter home and lovingly nurse him back to health._ Fucking cats, man.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys. I've had this sitting there for a while, I have a beginning, a middle, and an end all thought up, but not necessarily put into words. I definitely stopped watching a while ago, and when I did, Peter was an alpha, so he still is in this. If I don't post the next part within a month, I want those of you who want me to to endlessly berate me.


End file.
